


Threes

by VCCV



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 02:16:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10732083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VCCV/pseuds/VCCV
Summary: A word stream. Stream, stream, stream.





	Threes

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: jess 'n cassy

…weak, so weak, so utterly weak…weakweakweak…

Why would he want me? I’m such a mess. I’m scared, so, so very scared. I quiver and shake and bleed under my skin, and cover it with bitching and whining and sunscreen.

I can’t. Can’t, can’t, can’t. Caaann’t. Cannot. Why does she never speak in contractions? Does it matter? Does it matter how she talks if she’s at least there? She’s always there. Always backing him. She’s strong, strong, strong. She’ll…she will…shewill never let him down, never not be there. Never. Nevernevernever.

Always. Always there. Always, always, always. He’s always there, too. Right at his back. Just to the right and one step behind. Do they do that on Sateda also? I bet they do. I bet he was an honor guard before the war. Or something brave and loyal. Willing to throw his life away on a whim, on the chance to save him. Take a bullet for him. A blast. A rock. A punch. Torture. Pain. Orders. Always taking orders. Taking, taking, taking.

I take. That seems to be all I do. I don’t contribute. Nothing. That’s what I offer the team. Nothing, nothing, nothing. I’m a big, useless nothing.

I’m like Dawn. Remember Dawn? I hated her. Such a useless character. Need a pathetic plot device this week, Joss? Throw Dawn in! Let her go wandering off after a ZedPm, get kidnapped by the monster of the week. Then Buffy can come in with his P-90 and save your ass again. And she’ll shake her finger at you and tell you that you have to be more careful. Because there are dangerous things out there and no ZedPM is worth your life.

She’s wrong. He’s wrong. They’re all wrong. The ZedPM. It’s worth it. It’ll keep him safe. It’ll keep them all safe. It’ll keep her safe too. So that she can continue to kick his ass with her sticks and refuse to contract and smile benignly at his stupid jokes and be gracious to the trading partners and take some of the stress off of Elizabeth and make Ronon feel not so lonely and save her leader, her friend. And it’ll save him, too. So that he can lurk and hover and eat mashed almost-potatoes with his fingers and grunt that almost a laugh grunt when the Marines end up ass end over tea-kettle and quietly freak Elizabeth out and make Radek swoon over the way his muscles bulge out around his leather top and so that he can keep his leader safe. Safe, safe, safe.

Keep him safe. Because I can’t. I can’t, can’t, can’t. Weak, weak, weak.

Always falling off of cliffs and touching things I shouldn’t touch and saying rude things to the natives and sneezing at inappropriate times and bitching about citrus and panicking, panicking, panicking and not running fast enough. Never fast enough. Never, never, never. Always falling behind. Have to come back and get me. Come back and help me. Come back. Back, back, back. When it should be forward.

Go forward. Go to safety. Take him with you; he’ll cover your six. Take her with you; she’ll cover your flank. Six. Flank. Not me. I’m all over the clock. Falling, flopping, freezing, fainting, fucking-up. Fucking up. Fuckup. Fuckupfuckupfuckup. But you always come back. You never go forward. You come back to save me. Usually from myself.

Why? Whywhywhy?

You’re like Mal. Never leave a man behind, even if he’s going to cost you everything. I want to be like Mal. Or Jayne. Jayne is good. Strong, brave. Kind of stupid, though, so maybe I should go with Simon. But really, I’m more like River. Blasts of brilliance followed by incoherent babbling. Brilliant. I’m brilliant. I am. I know it. But what good is my brain when this pathetically useless body shields it? River, at least, has that Ninja-ass-kicking-hypnosis mind block thing going on. She comes through and saves the day. So do I, just without the Ninja-ass-kicking. Then we both revert to the babbling. Perhaps I have a bit of hyperventilating too. And maybe some whining. But definitely the babbling.

Only hers is insanity. Mine is just fear. Is today the day? Is today the day I finally fuck it all up, but good? When my fear, my pathetic uselessness gets him killed? And today it was. It was. Was, was, was. Falling behind. Coming back to get me. No six. No flank. Just me. Mememe. Getting him killed. Bullets spraying. Dirt flying. Watching him jerk. Jerk. Jerkjerkjerk. Bullet. Knocking him sideways. No. Please, no.

Not for me. Never for me. Standing between them. I’m useless, but I can stand. I can stand as a wall. As a shield. As protection. No six. No flank. No use. None. Not here. Never here. But I can stand. I can pay my way in blood, in bullets. In saving him, for once. It’s the least I can do. The most I can do. All I can do. And I’ll do it for him.

Because he’ll never know how proud I was to be asked. How proud I am every time he calls me part of his team. How a smirky smile for a job well done is worth more to me now than those diplomas on my wall. He’ll never know how hard I try to please him. To make a difference. And today, I can. I can make a difference. I can save him. Save him. Himhimhim. I can save him. And I will. I want to. I need to.

Because I’m weak. The weak link. The link that breaks. Breaks and breaks and breaks. But this time, I won’t take him with me. He’s safe. He’s not dead. Dead, dead, dead. Am I? No idea. None. None at all. But, it doesn’t matter. Because he’s not with me. He’s not dead, too. He’s not. And that’s worth it.

For me.

____________________________________________________

“How’s our patient, lad?” Carson asked, bustling about the room, collecting this syringe and that solution and those gauze pads.

John looked up, his eyes weary and dull in the deep circles that surrounded them. His face shadowed with days worth of beard growth. His form skinny and slumped. The bandage white against his shoulder.

“He’s still rambling,” John answered quietly.

“Aye,” Carson nodded, tapping the syringe gently before inserting it into the IV that trailed down from the stand, into the crook of Rodney’s elbow. “It’s the fever. He’ll be needing a bit of a rubdown with a cool cloth when I’m done here.” He looked at John through narrowed, knowing eyes. “Are you sure you want to do it again, son? I can get a nurse to do it this time.”

John shook his head sadly, his eyes slipping once again to Rodney’s form, unable to look elsewhere. “No. I’ll do it. It’s the least I can do for the man who stepped in front of six bullets for me.”

He took the basin from Carson when it was placed in his line of sight and promptly tuned out every other distraction in the room. Just like the last time. And the time before that.

“It’s the least I can do. The most I can do. All I can do.”


End file.
